Once the fire in her bottom has quietened down, and she can think more clearly, Clare Davenport is moved by what took place in Miss Bulstrode's class. She was on the point of receiving a terrible caning - and several girls spoke up, and put their necks on the line for her. Aside from Tina Dukes, no-one in Hazely has ever supported her like that before. And whilst it may be true that some of the girls were speaking on their own behalf, and that their motivation was not as altruistic as first appeared, the fact is their actions saved Clare, and she feels deeply grateful.
The first opportunity she gets, which is not until the girls are in the washrooms late on Friday evening, she thanks Karen Frayn.
"I know what it must have cost you," she whispers to Karen. "But now it's out in the open the Wardens have to do something."
Karen is far less sanguine. Clare, despite her experiences in Hazely, retains a core belief that in the end honesty and decency usually prevail. Karen's experiences of life have taught her that money, power and self-interest are the forces that usually win out. She doesn't exactly regret standing up to testify against Miss Lucy. But she has a suspicion that six girls will now be thrashed instead of one.
Saturday morning unfolds as usual: the girls are dispatched to their workplaces, the Wardens watch over them, and nothing is said about the events of the day before. But the girls who stood up in class know that Miss Bulstrode does not forget: and as the time for their shaving approaches they feel a growing sense of unease.
At two o'clock the girls file into the Waiting Room and take their places on the hard benches. Miss Bulstrode is present, along with Miss Armstrong, Miss Barker and Miss McCloud - more Wardens than usual, Clare notices: but then just before the first girls are called for shaving Miss McCloud leaves through the door which leads to the Consulting Rooms and is not seen again.
When Miss Lucy appears with Matron, looking as sultry and unruffled as usual, the hearts of the six girls sink.
Miss Lucy has been looking forward to Saturday afternoon. Both Clare Davenport and Karen Frayn evaded her the previous week, and she is determined that is not going to happen again. She has plans for both of them. She also intends to have a little fun with Kelly Watson, asking her if she has felt the urge recently to scratch an itch. She does not know yet whether Kelly knows or suspects the source of the itching: it will be highly entertaining to see her face, and her helpless rage, when she finds out.
But first things first: she has Ruth Bowers on the couch before her, legs spread, fanny exposed to the air. Ruth, she knows, is desperate for an orgasm: though she has not said so in so many words, her body language is screaming out for a hand to bring her relief.
But Miss Lucy does not like Ruth Bowers. Ruth Bowers, as Miss Lucy sees her, is a wannabe Donna May. She likes to act hard: but all her hardness is borrowed, all her authority drawn from her proximity to somebody stronger than her. Miss Lucy can feel a degree of respect for Donna May, who knows what she wants and doesn't take any shit from anyone. For Ruth Bowers, who was sent to Hazely for a minor role she played in a gang devoted to mugging and extortion, she can feel none. In the past she has largely ignored Ruth Bowers and treated her with indifference. But today the imp of mischief has taken up residence in her.
"I've been thinking about you," says Miss Lucy, as the razor cuts a swathe through the shaving foam over Ruth's pudenda.
"Have you?" asks Ruth, sounding surprised.
"Oh yes," says Miss Lucy. Ruth is a solidly built girl with pale skin and lips which push upwards in a permanent pout. Her legs are inclined to plump: by twenty-five she will be fat and coarse. Her buttocks bulge when Miss Lucy parts them and begins to draw the razor lightly away from her anus. Ruth wriggles, in a sensuous way. "I was thinking how hard it must be for you, locked in that awful chastity device night after night. You must get desperately frustrated."
"I do," says Ruth, surprised and pleased at the turn the conversation has taken. "Everyone does. You would if you were locked up in one of those things."
"I'm sure I would Ruth," says Miss Lucy, smoothing away the remnants of shaving foam and the tiny fragments of stubble with the warm flannel. "But then I haven't been a naughty girl and got myself locked up in here have I?"
"I suppose not," says Ruth, her hopes dimming again.
"Still," says Miss Lucy: "It does seem cruel. I'd go off my head if I couldn't have a rub."
"Oh God," says Ruby, as Miss Lucy's warm hand begins to smooth baby oil between her legs.
"I think you're a very needy girl at the moment, aren't you Ruth?"
"Yes," Ruth breathes.
"Supposing I were to help you out," says Miss Lucy. "Do you think you could do something for me in return?"
Miss Lucy's fingers are sliding around Ruth's genitals, feeling their way over her labia, glancing over her clitoris. Although Ruth has been dried on the towel her vagina is sopping wet again.
"Yes - of course," she says.
"So if there was a girl who had done me a wrong and I wanted her punished - you could do it for me?"
"Yes," says Ruth, who is trying to rub herself against Miss Lucy's hand. "Easily." She thinks of the time she smacked Clare Davenport's bottom; and of the time she and Donna pinched Abigail Morgan between her thighs.
"Very well then Ruth," says Miss Lucy. "I'll put you out of your misery. I don't mind what you do to this girl as long as it isn't pleasant. And Ruth - you mustn't say anything to anyone: this is just between you and me."
"Whatever you say," gasps Ruth. She is so horny, her clitoris must be swollen to the size of an egg. A few more tweaks like that...
